Pain
by mentalagent13
Summary: There are two different kinds of pain in the world; physical and emotional. One shot turned full story.
1. Pain

**A/N:** It's been awhile and I am sadly not updated due to my busy schedule, but I really needed to take the time to write. I hope anyone that takes the time to read it appreciates it! Thanks to anyone that reads this. Know that I am always grateful. Also, all mistakes are mine, I read through it, but I always miss something. Consider this my heartfelt apology.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing pertaining to The Mentalist.

**Pain**

There are two different kinds of pain in the world; physical and emotional. Which one hurts more? The answer depends on who you talk to first. External physical pain can be healed by kiss. Mommy knows how to take that pain away and wipe away the tears that fall when you scrape your knee. It can also be healed by bandages, ice, heat, ointment and a rest. In a week or less the injury is a memory recalled only when aggravated.

Internal emotional pain is different. It may not strike harshly, yet it sits and simmers for months causing a constant ache that cannot be relieved. It chips away at any façade it comes into contact with forcing the bearer to acknowledge the pain as often as it deems appropriate, and usually at the most inconvenient times. It drives some to attempt to relieve the pain externally, only to have it return more fiercely after the attempt has failed. Of course, emotional pain can also strike as fast and as hard as lightening leaving behind a flood of anguish that recedes slowly and leaves devastation in its wake. The rebuilding process takes years, if not a lifetime.

It's this devastating stabbing thunderstorm of a pain that she is currently trying to survive. She can't breathe because the agony is too great. There might be physical pain there as well, but it is overshadowed by the empty pit being torn open within her chest. She remains stoic as he walks away from her. His body language betrays nothing. He is even carrying his damn tea cup. She hears him rinse it in the break room sink before he goes to the elevator.

Her feet feel nailed to the ground. Her body is heavy as the sharp pain dulls to a heavy throbbing. It will take time to reduce it to something she can cover and ignore. She knows she should do something to try to relieve the pain she feels, but there is nothing she can think to do. The one person that can begin to traverse the chasm that was her heart is patiently waiting for the elevator so he can leave the building. He is going to leave the building, and everyone's life. She inherently knows it. He would not have hurt her so completely if he was coming back. Instead, he cut himself from everyone by utterly destroying her.

Surprisingly, she finds that her mind is not reeling, spinning, or swirling. No, there is no thought process. She is too focused on holding back the tears, keeping herself upright and staying silent. If she opens her mouth she will call to him. If her turns toward her she will hope and to have those dashed would be too devastating to consider. If he didn't turn around she would no longer be vertical. Allowing herself to fall to pieces in front of the entire bullpen would not serve her well. It doesn't matter that her heart is dust. She must stand tall.

The world stops turning when the elevator announces its arrival on their floor. He waits for a few to exit the elevator, and he steps onto it. He has to turn around to push the button that will take him to the ground floor. She doesn't want to, but her mind insists she has to see him one more time. Just one. It's only then that she sees the tears glistening in his eyes as the doors to the elevator close; as the doors to their chance close. She steps into her office. Out of habit she shuts the door, locks it, and pulls the blinds down. Only then does she allow herself to crumple onto the couch and let the pain overtake her.

**A/N:** Thoughts?


	2. Agony

**A/N:** So I decided to continue because I was inspired to. I created a bit of a theme with the first one that I am going to try to continue through this one. I'll see where I go from there. Thanks to all who read and commented. It made me so very happy!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that pertains to The Mentalist.

**Agony**

He never thought he would feel anything even semi close to the agony that he felt the day Red John stole his family from him. In all reality it barely measures on the scale of what he felt that day, but at the moment it takes most of his formidable will power not to turn around and look at her as he waits for the elevator. Walking away from her was hard enough, but staring at the contraption that will take him out of the bull pen is pure torture. Losing her is much more difficult than he had initially anticipated. He's lost his touch over the years in the confines of her care.

This part of the plan had always been the most difficult part of the plan. Leaving her is better for all of them. There is too much at stake for them to become just that, them. Combining the two of them is like trying to catch fire in ice. It will never work, and one will be destroyed in the process. Destroying her is unthinkable.

He thinks about the tea cup he only just rinsed out and put in the sink in the bull pen; the blue one that he always has to use when he is at the CBI. Tea is a comfort for him; it doesn't have to have a strong flavor. In fact, the strongest tea is not as bitter as a dark roast coffee. The idea that she prefers the stronger drink isn't lost on him. Standing here waiting for the elevator, not trying to let go for a millisecond to really see her is the cowardly move. If he is totally honest, he doesn't trust himself. He could fall apart right here. Turning around and going back to her would be a relief. She would forgive him just like she always does. He doesn't want her forgiveness this time. This time he knows he doesn't deserve it, shouldn't have expected it as many times as she was willing to give it to him. He still can't forgive himself for many of the things that have happened in his life. If he can't forgive himself, then she shouldn't be able to offer it to him so easily.

The elevator door slides open in front of him and he thinks about all the times he has entered that confined space and all of the people he has shared that space with. His hand in his pocket traces the memento he took off of her desk as he said good-bye for the final time. The business card doesn't look like much, but it has her name on it. His steps are practiced and easy hiding the turmoil inside. He pushes the feeling of the stitches on his heart sliding apart to reveal a small opening aside.

He pushes the button to go to the ground floor where he will get into his car and never come back that he catches a glimpse of the agony she feels. Her face remains stoic, but her eyes betray everything he wanted to prevent. She told him more in that second than she could have told him in years. His eyes fill with unshed tears at the thought of the pain she is feeling. He never meant it to be like this. He wasn't supposed to stay this long, to let her in. She wasn't supposed to affect him this way. The elevator door closes on the current chapter of his life and a tear rolls down his cheek.

**A/N:** Share your thoughts please!


	3. Physical

**A/N:** I wanted to continue for your benefit as well as mine. Sometimes writing is the only way that I am able to stay sane after work. Thanks to all that have read and are continuing to read. I really appreciate it. Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to The Mentalist

**Physical**

It's the physical pain that finally brings her to her knees months later. Every day she has been struggling to find her center, her hope, her solace. She tells herself that she is healing; that everything is getting better. He is better off wherever he went. Initially, she had tried to contact him, but his phone was disconnected and has been ever since. By now someone else probably has his phone number. The thought chills her.

She tries to snap herself out of it by grasping her cup of coffee a little more forcefully than necessary. She can feel the comforting warm reach dangerous levels and relaxes her grip. The steaming liquid is her one relief in a world full of cold cruelty. She has been noticing more cruelty lately. The murders they solve are more gruesome than she remembers them being. Of course it could just be that he isn't here to make light of the most difficult situations.

She's lost in thought as she enters the bullpen and doesn't notice the man rushing toward her. He bumps into her elbow and it sends her coffee cup flying toward the one piece of furniture no one on her team was ever able to consider getting rid of. Out of sheer desperation she attempts to catch the offending object, only succeeding in dousing her hand in the scalding liquid. The mug lands safely on the cushions of _his_ couch. The poor couch is drenched in hot coffee.

Her reaction is much more dramatic than necessary to everyone watching, except Van Pelt. She runs from the room with tears gathering in her eyes as much form the physical pain as from the realization that she might have just ruined his couch. Not that it matters since he wasn't in it or near it for that matter, but it's her last reminder of him that has been tainted. The uniform that bumped into her is apologizing profusely to a woman that isn't listening. Van Pelt shoos the man away, turns the cold water on in the break room faucet, and guides her to it. The cold water shocks her enough to use her good hand to wipe the unshed tears from her eyes.

"I've got the guys cleaning it," Van Pelt reassures her. She chuckles.

"They'll make a mess of it."

"I told them how to do it right, plus the janitor came in to instruct them on the particulars of cleaning that couch the way Jane liked it." The mention of his name sends a new flood of tears and one manages to escape and roll down her cheek. She tries to hide it from the woman standing next to her, but it is a fruitless endeavor. Van Pelt is kind enough not to remark on it.

"How bad is your hand?" Van Pelt asks to break the silence.

"Hurts, but I don't think it's too bad," she tells Van Pelt. The young agent nods and leaves her alone. She takes a deep breath and turns the cold water off. Her hand throbs, but it isn't as severe a burn as she initially thought. The couch must have taken the brunt of the spill. She sighs and gathers her frayed emotions before heading back out to the bullpen to check out the cleanup effort.

The entire scene puts a smile on her face. Rigsby and the janitor are arguing over the best way to get the stain out of the cushion while Cho is wiping up the access liquid with a rag from the janitor's cart. The argument is bordering on heated when Van Pelt steps in and explains to them the finer points of acting like men. The subtle hand on Rigsby's chest does wonders for calming the man down. He doesn't argue, instead he turns to help Cho finish sopping up the remaining mess. The janitor shrugs and takes a bottle off of his cart and sprays the couch. The hustle settles down and she heads to her office.

It's within the confines of her space that she allows herself to let go. A few tears fall as her hand continues to throb. Each heart beat she can feel in her hand reminds her off all the times he felt for a pulse on suspects and tricked so many people. She grits her teeth and swallows the rest of her tears. She cannot continue to dwell on him the way she has been. No one else has noticed, but it's getting worse. Today _has_ to be the tipping point for her. She plans to heal, just as her hand will.

**A/N:** I decided I needed to go a little lighter for parts of this one. Let me know your thoughts!


	4. Unending

**A/N: ** This story is really starting to take on a life of its own. I'm not sure how I feel about this story as a whole. There are pieces that I like, but regardless I am glad that you are reading. If you have any suggestions let me know! Otherwise happy reading! Spoilers for the season 6 commercial.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to The Mentalist

**Unending**

The horror he felt when he lost his wife and daughter has been an unending burden he never thought he would lose. The truth is, he never will. Yet, the absolute devastation has begun to relinquish its hold. He still carries his regrets and sorrows with hem every day, and he honestly doubts he will ever fully release them. Someone that has been through as much as he has rarely does. He doesn't hope for recovery, in fact he isn't sure he even wants to consider moving on from all of this. So much of his life has been dedicated to reading people, but he can't get a good read on himself.

He walks along the beach outside his Malibu home contemplating all that life has brought him. He tosses around the idea of moving to the East Coast. It would mean a brand new start in a place that hasn't been tainted by Red John. No one would connect him with the monster anymore. He could become a private investigator or get a job entertaining again. There will always be people waiting to be entertained. Of course, that life doesn't have the same draw it once did. Too much has happened, and taking advantage of honest people once again sickens him slightly.

The breeze coming off the water at night sends a small shiver through his frame. He can remember many nights walking along this beach trying to gather his thoughts and feelings. He isn't sure he is ready to give that up. He meant to come here, pack and go, but something is holding him back. There are memories that refuse to be buried and people that will not leave him alone and get lost in his memory palace.

Mistakes have been made by many, but few as egregious as he views his have been. Leaving the people here would be a blessing to them. They would not have to see him in a state that is almost as bad as when he lost the two people that were his entire life. He didn't want their pity, didn't want them to see him like this. He has finally allowed himself to grieve and grieve he has. The bruises on his knuckles and recently repaired hole in the front wall are proof of that. He considers himself lucky that he didn't hit a stud in the wall; instead his hand went through it scratching and bruising skin, but leaving the bones intact.

He tries not to consider what the team is going through back in Sacramento. They have solved the case of a lifetime; catching the one man that was considered to be uncatchable and had destroyed members of their own squad. He whispers a silent plea that Bosco forgives him wherever the man may be now. Believing in something is easier now that his one wish in life has been granted, or it could just be all the time he spends around her.

The chains that had loosened around his heart tighten just a bit when he thinks about the one person (other than Angela) that has stuck with him through thick and thin. It's an almost imperceptible tightening due to the source. His heart has been locked away for more years than cares to count. Pieces of the wall have chipped away with the loosening chains, but he wasn't sure he would be able to feel anything anytime soon. Then again, it's been months since he walked out of the CBI saying words he didn't mean to force them to let him go. She would have followed him if he hadn't. Having her near reminded him of what he had lost…

That final thought hits him harder than he expects it to. He stops moving and considers the implications of the years he spent in the CBI with a woman he trusted implicitly. He thinks about the moment he called her and heard Red John's voice on the line. The feeling of his heart landing in his stomach and smashing into mere dust particles that floated away with the slightest breeze. His heart hadn't been close to whole at the time, but there had been a block of something there. The dust particles had somehow magically reassembled themselves when they found her alive, but a new fear had taken root in his heart. It gnawed away at his mind. That fear had since receded since Red John's demise.

He begins walking back toward the house. The chill is beginning to get to him and a cup of hot tea is a necessity. Tea helps him thinks. Once in the kitchen he puts the kettle on and waits for it to boil. He gets his tea cup ready and contemplates his most recent thoughts. Time has begun to clear his mind slightly, and he has been able to sleep nightly on a couch he brought in and put in the living room. Otherwise a plethora of books have been his only companions.

The tea is soothing. He has chosen a jasmine to calm his mind and relax his body. He rinses his cup and places the cup and saucer both in the sink. He realizes he left the tea sitting on the counter. With a shake of his head he grabs the bag of loose leaf tea and reaches to place it on its designated shelf. He stops with his hand halfway in the shelf when he spots the coffee pot stored there, a layer of dust coating the top. A can of coffee is sitting next to it with a pack of filters resting on top. He isn't sure when he acquired the set, but he knows that he did it for a reason.

Quickly, he puts the tea back on the shelf and gathers a few things from the room. Time has never mattered to him. Right now he has made a decision that he doesn't want to consider the implications to or he might never find himself again. The circle he is traveling could prove to be unending.

**A/N:** Thoughts are welcome!


	5. Relief

**A/N: **It's been a super stressful week and I definitely needed this. Writing is always a huge stress relief for me. I also love sharing my stress relieving musings with you. There could be spoilers for the 5th season in this, but my knowledge is mixed together and am unsure which season most things happened in. Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to The Mentalist and never will.

**Relief**

She didn't know how she would feel once she was able to let him go, just that little bit. If she had known, she might have tried to let him go earlier. It no longer hurt to smile or laugh. Looking at things that reminded her of him still left a pang of regret reverberating through her soul, yet it didn't seem to last long and she could ignore it if she out her mind on something else.

She takes a seat at her desk and pulls out the latest report from the case the team is currently working on. He has been gone for nearly eight months now and the team has managed to keep close a decent amount of their cases. The number is somewhere around 60% of the cases they would have closed with Jane. The number isn't great because there are families out there that haven't found closure yet, but they still have the highest close rate in the precinct. That in itself is something to be proud of. It shows that old-fashioned police work has its benefits too.

She looks to the couch in her office and the familiar sinking of her heart feels just a little less terrible than it did yesterday. The case file itself is slim, there isn't much to go on for this case, but she chooses to read through the information again. There could be something that she missed; something that the team missed. They didn't even know who the victim was yet, fingerprints were not in the system and the victim doesn't match any missing person's reports.

She studies the crime scene photos again. It reminds her of all the times he reviewed the crime scene photos and found something that they had missed the first time. Of course any time he found anything it was a production to get the evidence they had needed to get to arrest the criminal. The memory makes her smile. She figures that is a good first step. Van Pelt sees her and the younger woman nods in her direction.

She can feel it, she is well on the way to moving on. She hopes that one day all her memories of the time spent with him will bring a smile to her face. Right now there are still moments that she misses him terribly. The elevator dings and she looks up out of habit, somewhere deep inside hoping that she'll get a glimpse of him seconds after the sound. She shakes her head and looks back at the case file. If he hasn't come back by now, he's not coming.

She her face betrays her surprise when her door opens and he walks in.

**A/N:** Any thoughts?


	6. Panic

**A/N:** This story is coming to a close. I think I'll have one more chapter after this just to smooth out the rest of it and give you the happy ending you've been searching for. I can't thank you enough for reading and reviewing. The responses I've gotten for this story as well as _Realization_ have been overwhelming and I am so thankful that all of you have stopped to read. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to The Mentalist

**Panic**

He can't quite explain the acceleration of his heart as he pulls into the CBI lot for the first time in longer than he cares to consider. This place had once been a second home to him. He never once regretted his time here, or the people he spent that time with. He was tired of regrets and that was the main reason he had left in the first place. He no longer wanted to be a burden on them. The potential for them to regret their time protecting and caring for him was more than he could ever ask for; to ask for more would be shameful.

His old spot has a car in it, but that was considered. Charlie, the guard at the gate, is too busy gaping at his car to tell him where he should park, so he chooses the closest visitors spot. His permit is no longer valid anyway. The act of parking in a visitor spot creates a tightening in his chest he can't describe nor shake off. All of this should have been a trigger for someone as observant as he is, and he knows it should be. That thought sends his heart beating just that tad bit faster.

He walks into the lobby and stands in line to get a visitors pass from the front desk. He is sure that many of the officers here would recognize him and let him in without asking questions. His real reason for standing here is to make sure that the receptionist doesn't spot him and tell Lisbon that he is here. She is the only person that might give away his presence. Once he gets to the desk she winks at him and points to the metal detectors. There are some things in this world even _he_ cannot avoid doing.

The elevator looms in front of him. He pauses for an instant to try to catch the breath he seems to have lost in the trek from the detectors to the elevator. His eyebrow crease ever so slightly momentarily betraying his unease to the trained eye. The only trained eye that would notice is upstairs, and that relaxes him outwardly enough to not send off any red flags to those walking near him.

He pushes the button to call the elevator. People mill around him as usual. One uniformed officer greets him with a smile and welcomes him back. He just nods with a smile. Most are ignoring him and that is the way he wanted it. He is thankful that he didn't run into anyone on the team on his way here. They are all in the building. A cursory sweep of the garage proved useful. All of the vehicles he needed to be here are present and accounted for. Now, he just has to hope that no one dies in suspicious fashion in the next five minutes or less.

The elevator arrives with its usual cheery _ding_. He steps on alone and pushes the button that will take him to the place that will lead him to his destination. The ride is short and the doors open sooner than he would like. He debates riding it down and back up for an instant, but reprimands himself for being so childish. He finally walks out and can see the bullpen. His heartbeat increases more. It feels as though he walking at a brisk pace. His breathing soon comes in smaller spurts. He has to concentrate to calm himself down. It's been too long since he was here last and it is taking an effect on him.

He makes up his mind quickly and walks toward his ultimate destination. He takes note of every face that turns to stare at him as he crosses the floor. The sight of his couch and desk raise his spirits enough that he can appear to be relaxed on the outside. Meanwhile, his mind is racing faster and faster. Her door is just ahead and he plans what he is going to tell her. His hand touches the door and every thought disappears when he is hit with the familiar room. His legs move without thought as his sits on her couch. He can feel her tense and hears her slight gasp as she realizes who it is exactly that has walked through her door. He can no longer control his heartbeat. This is one of the most difficult things he has done in years and it has caused him to panic. He closes his eyes momentarily to calm himself. Panic sets in completely.

**A/N: **Let me know what you think!


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